The It's Not What You Think Affair
by Kei
Summary: Napoleon and Illya's relation ship hits a snag.


Fandom: Man From UNCLE  
  
Title: "The 'It's Not What You Think' Affair (1/1)  
  
Author: Kei  
  
Pairing: Napoleon / Illya  
  
Rating: PG-13 (?)  
  
Warning: Slash  
  
Archive: sure, if you want.  
  
Disclaimers: Man From UNCLE and its characters belong to MGM, I'm only playing -yada yada- and as this is a Valentine's Day story, it's bound to get a little syrupy.  
  
  
  
"THE 'IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK' AFFAIR"  
by Kei  
  
  
  
  
He was a dead man.  
  
That's what he was.  
  
Dead. Dead! DEAD!!!  
  
And there were so many ways he could make it happen.  
  
Lovely, messy, *painful* ways...   
  
...having been trained by both the KGB *and* UNCLE had taught him a variety of techniques to make a man scream.  
  
And Napoleon Solo was going to scream tonight.  
  
The piece of note paper clenched in Illya Kuryakin's hand crinkled loudly in the silence of his and Napoleon's apartment, snapping him from his silent reverie on the hundred-and-one ways he could punish his partner, and brought him back to the reason for his pain.  
  
It had been a note.  
  
Just a note someone had slipped into his mailbox -no address or stamp on the envelope. Nothing unusual beyond that; no THRUSH poison imbibed into the paper, no wafer-thin explosive- just a note...and some photographs.  
  
Looking back on the moment, Illya realized that he would have preferred an explosive -then, at least, the pain he felt now would have been over quickly. The note had read: 'I hate to tell you this, but maybe you should be keeping a better eye on your lover'. Having recognized the handwriting as belonging to an UNCLE secretary who had made no bones about having the hots for him, "from day one" as she had put it, he had been inclined to dismiss the purile attempt to make him doubt Napoleon's love for him...  
  
...but for the pictures.  
  
There were three of them: one showing Napoleon at an exclusive confectioner's, one showing Napoleon entering a particularly expensive florist's, and the last -the cruelest in some ways, showing Napoleon apparently discussing the price of a ring at a jeweler's...  
  
...and each time, he was with the same nameless, tall dark-haired woman!  
  
No...ordinary torture wasn't good enough after all.  
  
Flesh-eating ants came to mind...  
  
...or a pool full of sharks (amazing the ideas one got from watching one of Napoleon's "James Bond" movies).  
  
Bozhe moi... Illya massaged the growing ache in his temples. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He had never meant to get in so deep. That he and Napoleon had become friends had seemed a natural progression of their partnership -falling head-over-heels in love had blindsided him.  
  
What was he going to do..?  
  
It was then that Illya heard a familiar jingle of keys in the lock and even as the door opened, the transitory melancholy vanished and he was *angry*! "Who *is* she!"  
  
Napoleon stood framed by the doorway, frozen in place by the unexpected sight of his partner almost literally transforming into a raging Siberian tiger. "Ah...who is 'who'?"  
  
"Don't play games with me, 'Mr. Two-Timer'! WHO is she!"  
  
Napoleon let go of the bags he had been carrying as a handful of note and pictures were thrust at him. Understanding dawned. "Oh...now I see... But it's not what you think, Illyusha. I promise you-"  
  
Illya cut off the "confession" off with a sharp gesture of his hand. "I *don't* want to hear it! Just tell me *one* thing -do you love her?"  
  
"W-well, of course I do-"  
  
"I *knew* it!"  
  
"No...you have it all wrong..."  
  
"Why didn't you just tell me!"  
  
"IIllya-"  
  
"I could move out today -I still have my old apartmenmmMMPH!" The kiss, like the very first time, came from out of the blue, intense, passionate, stealing the air from his lungs, and when the explosions finally stopped going off at the back of his eyes, a woozy Illya Kuryakin barely managed to mumble: "...not...fair..."  
  
"*Now* will you listen to me?" When he got what sounded like a mumbled "okay", Napoleon offered a slightly embarrassed smile. "*Yes* I love that woman -she's my cousin 'Sophia'. I guess you didn't recognize her, hmn?" That got Napoleon a bewildered shake of the blonde head. "*And*," Solo added, not giving his confused partner time to form another argument, "of *course* I went with her to those particular establishments -I needed her advice on a few things."  
  
Illya's eyes were large, his voice small. "For...what?"  
  
"For these." Napoleon bent to the forgotten bags he had been carrying and retrieved, before a disbelieving Russian's eyes, a heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates, a delicately wrapped bunch of long-stemmed red roses -both of which he placed in his flustered partner's hands...and then: "I *know* we both said that we wouldn't get all mushy on special occasions, but, Illya, you'll just have to forgive my romantic nature this time." Whereupon, Napoleon presented a tiny, velvet box.  
  
Illya opened the box with shaking hands. There, within, was a simple diamond-etched gold band, the inside of which read: 'My friend, my love, my life'.  
  
"So..." Napoleon said with a nervous smile, "will you be *my* Valentine ...for a lifetime?"  
  
All at once, the senior UNCLE agent was bowled over by his blonde, Russian dynamo and soundly peppered with kisses. "*Da*! I mean, *yes*!"   
  
Napoleon was about to point out that a bed might have been a better place to take this...but...this would do just fine.  
  
  
  
  
He'd think about a way to get back at their little jokester later.  
  
  
  
  
--The End--  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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